Much Ado in Storybrooke
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: Something Emma Swan has dreaded since the moment she learned of Cora's presence in Storybrooke is confirmed: Killian Jones has come, as well. The events that lead to this discovery are only the beginning of the madness, creating a domino effect that leads to betrayal, and-ultimately-love. AU Captain Swan side-by-side with Red/OC. Loosely based on the play Much Ado About Nothing.
1. Chapter 1

_**I'm back, and this time with Once Upon a Time!**_

_**And it's a multichapter fic!**_

_**I've found myself madly obsessed with Captain Swan lately. During this past semester (the last month, particularly), I've had this idea for a Once Upon a Time story that is inspired by the plot of Much Ado About Nothing. It isn't going to mimic it-not by a long shot-but it's my favorite Shakespeare play, and there were similarities in the way I set up the potential plot for this story that are very Much Ado-ish.**_

_**On to the story then, yes? Enjoy!**_

* * *

The end of Rumpelstiltskin's cane connected with his jaw, and there was no hope for Killian remaining on his feet. He went down, hard. He managed to push himself to the side mere seconds before the cane could connect with the back of his skull, rolling out of striking range before dizzily finding his way back to his feet.

He reached for his sword, but before he could draw it, Rumpelstiltskin threw a glowing orange phial into the air, where it shattered against the Jolly Roger's mainsail. Flames began spreading slowly, radially. Killian stared in horror as the sail was engulfed by magicked fire, his revenge momentarily forgotten due to the inevitable destruction of his ship. Black smoke rose into the cloudless sky.

When he was able to tear his gaze from the burning mainsail, Killian found that he was very much alone. His fury was only tempered by his desperation to salvage his vessel. Rumpelstiltskin be damned, he had to save his ship.

* * *

"Mom, is that smoke?"

Emma glanced at her son briefly, noting that he was pointing somewhere outside. When she looked in the direction he indicated—somewhere beyond the clock tower—she saw a thick cloud obscuring the clear morning sky.

"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath, waving Ruby over.

The brunette sauntered to the table, though the sway of her hips was less exaggerated than it had been before the curse was broken. "What do you need, Emma?"

"Can you stay with Henry for a bit? I can see smoke: It looks like it's coming from the marina."

"Why can't I come with you?" Henry protested as he stood from his seat.

"Smoke generally equals fire, Kid, and that amount of smoke looks like it's coming from one massive inferno." He went to argue more, but she shook her head, her expression firm. "No, Henry. Stay here with Ruby—"

"Red," the other woman interrupted.

Emma looked at her blankly for a moment before it clicked that she was being told Ruby's fairy tale identity. "All right. . . . Stay here with Red until I get back. I promise I'll call you as soon as I find out what's going on, okay?"

The boy let out a heavy sigh, sitting once more. "Fine . . . can I have another hot cocoa, at least?"

"Sure." Emma gave Henry a one armed hug before pulling on her jacket, and Red left to retrieve his cocoa. "Later, Kid."

"Bye, Mom."

She wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled on her gloves as she moved for the exit. As soon as she was through the door the frigid Maine air began to nip at the bits of skin that were still exposed. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the fire department, her gaze never leaving the black cloud beyond the clock tower.

* * *

Drawing his sword, Killian began to hack at the ropes that held the mainsail in place. It was a risk—the sail could simply fall to the deck of the ship and destroy the entirety of it—but it was a risk he had to take. A strong gust of winter wind began to blow the smoke inland, and he cut through the final rope with a violent swing. An edge of the sail fell, hard, atop the rail of the ship, though the majority, as he feared, remained on deck.

Heedless of the danger it posed on his physical well-being, he threw off his jacket and rushed to the raging inferno that was the Jolly Roger's mainsail. He tried to take hold of the edges that were not yet burning, but the heat from the flames overwhelmed him. Smoke assaulted his lungs and he coughed painfully. Backing away from the fallen mainsail, he stared helplessly as the fire began to spread to the deck.

Over the roar of the flames, Killian was aware of a wailing screech—the likes of which he had never heard—rapidly growing louder. When he glanced in the direction of the strange noise, he was met with flashing lights and a small herd of metallic beasts racing toward the marina, their bright red hides glistening in the sunlight. He wasn't sure what threat these… _monsters_… posed to him, but there was no guarantee that the demon or that Belle woman—or even Regina—hadn't informed others in the town of his arrival with Cora.

Killian sighed resignedly: There was only one option. He snatched his jacket from the deck and tossed it overboard, between his ship and the dock. He ran to the far side of the ship, away from the burning sail and the approaching beasts, and hauled himself over the railing. Taking one last look back at the flames, Killian took a deep breath and dove headlong into the icy harbor.

The water felt like daggers, sharp and unrelenting as the cold penetrated to the bone. The air left his lungs in a gasp just as he reached the surface. He struggled to keep his head above water, his limbs numb and weak. His heart pounded in his ears as he forced his body to move toward the bow. His breathing was short and quick, and he couldn't hold the air in his lungs but for a moment. He turned on his side, cursing his hook with every useless stroke his left arm made.

The progress Killian made through the water felt as if it took ages, and he was rapidly being sapped of the adrenaline he'd had an overabundance of when he'd jumped ship. He reached the bow just as the beasts' wailing reached a crescendo. A wave of relief washed over him as he reached the dock and swam beneath it. The metal monsters' cries quieted, only to have their foreign sounds replaced by the familiar shouts of humans.

Now, where was his coat?

* * *

Emma's muscles were tensed as the firefighters worked. It was lucky they had brought all three trucks out: They were having difficulty controlling the fire with just the one engine's hose. They scrambled to find pumps around the marina that could support the amount of water they needed.

Emma wandered to the edge of the dock, near the bow of the ship—the heat of the flames reached even there, and she barely felt the winter chill unless the wind picked up. She peered into the water below, oranges and yellows dancing in the dark, polluted waters. Sunlight reflected off of something in her periphery, but when she glanced toward it, it was gone.

If not for the flaming pirate ship just feet in front of her, she would have chalked it up to her imagination. Getting down on her knees, she leaned over the edge of the dock and looked beneath it for what she suspected had caused the glimmer of light, but found nothing.

Perplexed, she rose to her feet and turned back to the firefighters. The fire was still burning fiercely; smoke billowed from the drenched part of the sail that hung precariously from the railing. The sail was charred and blackened, and the sickly sweet smell of burning hemp mixed with the acrid odor of burning wood wafted through the marina.

The question of how Cora had managed to find her way to Storybrooke had at least been partially answered, and Emma's ever-present suspicion that she hadn't come alone had been confirmed. This was certainly not Cora's ship, so that left only one possibility: Hook was in Storybrooke.

So where the hell had he disappeared to while his ship sat burning in the harbor?


	2. Chapter 2

**_I am SO sorry for the wait on this chapter. My computer died last Saturday, and I lost everything I had planned for this story. I had to start from scratch (though, thankfully, I didn't lose what I had written on this chapter entirely thanks to my need to share progress with every living being I befriend), so it's going to be a little different than I initially thought. However, it is all planned out (and backed up!), so it will definitely get written within the next few weeks (at least mostly). _**

_**In this chapter, I introduce two OCs, Osamu and Yukiko (face credits are Kenta Kiritani and Masami Nagasawa). Their back story is based on the Japanese folktale, The Crane Wife. Though, like everything else in Once Upon a Time, nothing is at it seems.**_

_**Another note is that I used James quite a bit in this chapter, but from the time before he became James—when he was still just the shepherd. It's rumored that his name in the script was Richard, but it could change in future episodes. For now, though, I'm sticking with Richard.**_

_**Thanks so much for all the feedback and follows that I've gotten so far! I never expected this kind of response to this story. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! **_

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

The door to the shop creaked open. Osamu looked up from his worktable in the back room, his eyebrow lifting. The winter months brought very little business to his shop. He could predict when he would get customers—those who owned boats in the marina came at the same time, on the same day, of the same month, every year. Maybe this change was an effect of the curse being broken, but it rubbed him the wrong way to have his routine interrupted, nonetheless.

He stood from the table, stretching his back: He'd been at work for over three hours, and it was barely nine in the morning. It had been this way for years, since he had been forced to do the work on his own. Osamu ran his fingers along the rough-hewn sailcloth. There had never been time for anything else but his work since . . . since . . .

_Dark hair matted with blood . . . ghostly pale skin . . . Osamu's hands streaking crimson trails along Yukiko's arms as he shook her, pleading for her to awaken. . . ._

He pushed back the horrific memory, still so vivid after nearly thirty years had passed. He tried to recall a happier time, or simply a memory of Yukiko as she had been alive, but he found nothing. It wasn't as difficult to mask the pain and disappointment as it had been, but his heart still ached for the woman he had loved—a memory of the wife he had lost. He had known then that there was nothing he could do: His wife had been covered in blood when he had found her. His stomach churned as he stepped into the main room of the shop, the memory of Yukiko's mangled body just as nauseating as it had been the day he had found her.

"You look remarkably pale. Seen a ghost?"

Osamu's head shot up, hardly believing the voice he heard. A man—soaked to the skin and more disheveled than Osamu had ever seen him—was standing next to a table of wet suits not far from the door to the back room. A dark bruise colored his cheek, just under his left eye. "Killian? How is it that you're here? Last I heard you'd had it out with Rumpelstiltskin and then disappeared, along with your ship." He shook his head, incredulous. "I believed you dead, lost to Davy Jones' Locker."

"I'm wounded, Osamu." Killian's hand went to his chest dramatically, a shadow crossing his otherwise jovial face. A few drops of water splattered the floor in front of Osamu. "That I should fall prey to that demon is a joke, and not a very funny one at that." He brushed back the wet hair that clung to his forehead before letting his hand to fall to his side, more water dripping to the floor. "If you must know, after my skirmish with Rumpelstiltskin I traveled to Neverland. I used the same means to travel here to Storybrooke. I'm surprised you haven't seen my ship in the harbor—I've been here long enough."

"I don't travel outside of the shop much, and never to the marina. I don't have time—too much work to be done."

"Don't you have help? Where is Yukiko? She always made a better sail th—What is it?" Killian's face fell as realization dawned in his eyes. "When?"

"Just before Regina's curse brought us all here. It was . . ." his voice trailed off as he tried to find a word to describe how he had found his wife: How it had nearly killed him to see her body savaged, just beyond where they had lived in the Enchanted Forest, but no word was powerful enough. He simply remained silent, his jaw set against the pain that overwhelmed him, once again threatening to tear him apart.

Killian approached hesitantly, his hand resting on Osamu's shoulder. "I truly am sorry, my friend. Yukiko was a good woman—she did not deserve her fate."

"Nobody deserves to die as she did," Osamu said viciously.

"No." Killian's cornflower blue eyes were dark as he met Osamu's gaze. "No, they don't." Killian stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.

Osamu noticed a glimmer of metal and looked down—where Killian's left hand should have been was a silver hook. With a gesture toward the hook, Osamu asked, "What happened?"

"_That _was a gift from the Dark One himself. Or, rather, the need for it was."

"Was this during—?"

"Yes. As for why I'm here," Killian continued hastily, clearly unwilling to discuss the circumstances surrounding how he had lost his hand, "I need your help. The Jolly Roger has been damaged, though how badly I'm not yet sure. One thing I do know is that she will require a new mainsail."

"She was burned, wasn't she? That's why there were fire engines—"

"Fire _what_?"

"They're . . . mobile machines that put out fires in this realm, for lack of a better explanation." Killian looked baffled for a moment, but quickly covered it up. Osamu simply continued on. "Is that what happened? Was the Roger burned?" When all he received was a nod, Osamu leaned back against the doorjamb, puzzled. "It was by no fault of your own, I'm sure. You're not so careless as to set your own ship aflame. . . . Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Indeed. So will you do it?"

"Of course. I never turn away a friend. I assume the mainsail was the very same I sold you the last time we met?"

Killian nodded.

"All right, I can manage that. It will take some time, though. A month . . . maybe longer."

"That's quite all right. We _are_ working under the assumption that I still have a ship, which may not be the case." His eyebrows furrowed momentarily, and Osamu couldn't get a read on what Killian was feeling before the pirate was heading for the door. "I should be going. Don't tell anyone I was here. Thank you again."

And he was gone.

* * *

_The sun was hot as Richard walked toward the village. The rays of warmth caressed his skin, shifting it into darker shades of gold. He looked at the road before him, fingering the coins he had in his pocket._

_A woman came around the bend in the road that led to the village square, her arms wrapped around a rather large basket. She seemed to be struggling with the weight of it, and he hurried forward to catch the basket as she nearly lost her grip on it._

_She stared at him, wide-eyed, as he steadied the basket in her arms. "Thank you so much. I would have dropped it for sure."_

"_It was no trouble. Do you need help carrying that?"_

"_I would say no, but that would be foolish, considering what you just prevented." She flashed him a sheepish grin as he took the basket from her. "I am Yukiko."_

"_Richard. It's a pleasure to meet you, Yukiko."_

"_Oh, I doubt that saving a woman from losing her week's groceries is very pleasurable," she said, chuckling softly, "but thank you. My husband and I have a home just under a mile from the village. Follow me." _

_They walked in a surprisingly companionable silence for a time. The late summer breeze wafted past Richard, bringing with it the refreshing scent of pine coupled with the buttery bouquet of the ferns that grew along the river. Birds sang cheerfully from the trees that lined the path, the leaves rustling as squirrels and chipmunks scurried along the branches._

"_We're nearly there," Yukiko said, her gaze turning to him."I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time, Richard."_

"_Not at all. My trip to the village would have been a quick one. A mile is not so far out of my way, and I'm happy to help someone in need."_

"_You are very kind." She smiled warmly, turning her eyes back to the path. "There's my home—it isn't much, but Osamu and I prefer to live simply."_

"_Osamu is your husband?"_

_She nodded, her eyes lighting up as a man came out of the house. "Osamu, dear, this is Richard. He helped me avert disaster earlier—I nearly dropped the basket of wares I just purchased in the village."_

"_Is that so?" Osamu approached Richard and eyed him for a moment. Richard shifted uncomfortably under the dark brown eyes that analyzed him. Clearly Yukiko's husband was a bit more suspicious of strange men that helped women in need. However, a slow smile spread over Osamu's face. "Thank you for assisting my wife. We do not truly want for anything, but we don't like to take more than we need—having to purchase more groceries would have made less available for the others in the village." Richard lifted an eyebrow as he glanced toward the small cottage the couple called home, and Osamu laughed quietly. "We do not need to flaunt our wealth as the nobility does."_

"_I'm sorry if I seem surprised, my friend," Richard said. "I'm not used to the wealthy being quite so humble." _

"_Oh, we aren't terribly wealthy, by any means," Yukiko replied, "but, having been commissioned by King George to outfit his navy, we live comfortably enough."_

"_Indeed we do." Osamu stepped forward and took the basket from Richard. "Would it offend you if I offered to pay you for helping Yukiko?"_

"_It wouldn't offend me, but I couldn't accept any money for doing the right thing."_

"_Will you at least dine with us this evening?" Yukiko asked, her smile dazzling. "You can bring your wife and children."_

"_Oh, it's only my mother and me."_

"_Your mother, then," she amended, a hint of surprise in her dark eyes. He went to refuse, but she held up a hand. "It's the least we could do, and I, personally, will not take no for an answer."_

"_Neither will I," Osamu added._

_He smiled, looking from Yukiko to Osamu, then back. "I am grateful for the offer, and it seems I have no choice but to accept. I should be getting to the village now, though."_

"_Yes, of course. We're sorry to have kept you this long," Yukiko replied, walking over to her husband and placing a hand on the small of his back. "Thank you again, Richard."_

"_Anytime."_

* * *

Smoke was still billowing into the sky—though not quite as thickly—when Emma pulled up in front of the marine shop. She had driven past the small store quite a few times since she had arrived in Storybrooke, but she had never had a reason to go in before. She climbed out of the sheriff's car and headed inside the shop, the door creaking as she pushed it open. She slipped and nearly lost her balance as she walked; she looked down and saw a trail of water leading to a small puddle by a table of wet suits. A man she had never seen before came out of the back room holding a mop and bucket.

"Can I help you, Sheriff?" he asked, walking over to the puddle and placing the bucket next to the table.

"You have me at a disadvantage—you know who I am, but I've never seen you before."

"My name is Osamu Akabayashi." He started mopping up the puddle. "I don't leave the shop much, but I have heard about you from customers. The Savior of Storybrooke, the reason our curse was broken." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Now, is there something I can do for you?"

"Where did this water come from?" she asked, though she already had an idea.

"There's a leak in the pipes," he replied, his gaze once again averted.

"Right, a leaky pipe." She walked over to stand by him, gazing significantly at the ceiling. "It doesn't look like there's any damage to your ceiling. Lucky—the pipes burst at my apartment in Boston, and my ceiling was ruined. It was stained and moldy; I needed to have it replaced."

"That is unfortunate." He looked up at her, resting the mop against the table. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"I have a gift for lie-detecting. I suppose no one told you that, huh?" She took a step closer to him, inclining her head to meet his eyes. "I know Hook was here, Mr. Akabayashi."

"I have no clue who you're talking about." Osamu crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we done here?"

"For now," she replied, heading for the door. "Oh, and don't forget to mop up the trail your 'leaky pipe' left leading to the exit. I nearly fell coming in."

She crossed the threshold and looked around, her gaze falling on the clock tower in the distance. She could just barely make out that it was noon. She had left Granny's nearly four hours ago, and she had forgotten to call Henry. _Damn it._ Jumping into her bug, she rushed over to Granny's thinking Henry may not have left yet—he liked spending time with Red.

When she arrived at the diner, she hurried inside and found that Henry had already left. She looked around for Red, finding the brunette talking with James—her father . . . still weird—at the counter. She approached them, drawing their attention immediately with her sudden arrival.

"Where's Henry?" Emma asked without preamble.

"Snow brought him to our house," James replied, Red walking off to tend to a customer. "He said you were at that fire in the marina. What's going on?"

"Cora didn't come to Storybrooke alone, that is what's going on." She pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache starting behind her eyes. "It's a good thing we've already dealt with with Regina's crazy mother, otherwise this would be more than I could handle. I'm still surprised Regina managed to put Cora under a sleeping curse—I guess she met her screw-up quota when she cursed Henry."

"Lucky for me, I suppose." He smiled at her. "You should call Henry, if you haven't already. He was worried about you."

"You're right." She pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found the number to Snow and James's new house. Before she dialed, Emma said, "We'll figure out what to do about this new mess after."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you everyone who stuck around after the last chapter. I know, I dropped a bombshell of a story line on you all, but I swear it will pay off. This idea has been rolling around in my head since Hook was introduced, but if you know Much Ado About Nothing, there are two important romances: Benedick and Beatrice's, and Claudio and Hero's. That should hint at what's coming in my story. I'm sorry I didn't explain it better in my note on chapter one! Anyway, I'm a chapter ahead at the moment, and I'm going to try and stay that way. Once I finish chapter five, I'll post chapter four. For now, here's chapter three. Enjoy!**_

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure that this it's Hook's ship in the marina?"

"I doubt Cora found another pirate to work with after Snow and I went through the portal. What I want to know is how they managed to get through; the ashes and the compass were the only way." Emma ran her hands over her face, frustration clouding her thoughts. "I had to fight to get the compass: I knocked the bastard out for Christ's sake."

James's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wait, you fought a man who has probably spent most of his life as a pirate and won? Were you using a sword?"

"Yes, there were swords involved. Why are you acting so surprised?"

"I hate to say this, but, even with Mulan and your mother teaching you, it's unlikely that you learned enough skills with a blade while you were in the Enchanted Forest to take on an experienced pirate. The dead raised to life I can understand, but a pirate is another thing entirely."

"Hey! I resent that." She crossed her arms in front of her on the counter. She really didn't want to think about what James was implying.

"I'm not trying to insult you, Emma. I'm simply saying that—" she glared fiercely in his direction. With a sigh, he changed the subject. "Did you check with Osamu at the marine shop to find out where Hook is? Maybe Hook approached him for help replacing the sail that was destroyed in the fire."

"I already did. It was the first thing I did after leaving the marina. He lied about Hook being in the shop and was generally evasive. No help."

James looked surprised. "That's not like the Osamu I know—I've known him longer than I've known Snow. Not even fear for his life could silence the truth where he was concerned, but he is fiercely loyal. He only lied once, that I know of, and that was when I asked him to."

"So you think Hook asked him to lie?"

"That's the only thing that makes sense." James looked. "Why would Hook hide his presence from the town?"

"Probably to avoid running into Mr. Gold—er, Rumpelstiltskin."

"And why would he be avoiding Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Rumpelstiltskin is the reason Hook even has a hook. There's more to it, but I don't know what most of it is." She paused, then, "I should talk to Rumpelstiltskin, now that I think about it. He might know something about the fire. He may even be responsible for it." She got up from her stool. "Rumpelstiltskin may know where to find Hook."

"You're saying Rumpelstiltskin a lot," James pointed out.

"It still sounds weird. I need to get used to it. I'll let you know if I learn anything."

* * *

"Rumpelstiltskin!" Emma called out, the bell above the door chiming as she entered the store.

"I see you've taken to calling me by my true name." Rumpelstiltskin stood in the doorway to the backroom, leaning heavily on his cane. "To what do I owe this visit, Miss Swan?"

"The fire at the marina"—his shoulders stiffened—"what do you know about it?"

"Why, I started it," he admitted, his voice tense. He began straightening out the sleeves of his suit jacket. "It was self defense."

She stared at him, suspicious. He didn't seem to be lying, but he wasn't telling her the entire truth, either. "Who were you defending yourself against?"

"I think you know." He met her eyes. "If you're looking for him, the worry for his precious ship will likely cause him to be careless in his efforts to keep hidden. He will be at the marina as soon as the arson investigation is over."

"You don't plan to go after him again, do you?" she asked, disregarding the hint of concern that lingered in her question.

"I do believe you're worried about him. I wonder why that is?"

"I'm the sheriff, and I have to look out for all of the people who live here. That includes Hook now." She walked up to the counter slowly, deliberately, until she was mere feet from Rumpelstiltskin. Her eyes met his, daring him to defy her. "I won't allow this feud between you two to come to a head again. Do I make myself clear?"

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Crystal. You are your parents' daughter, dearie." He stepped back a pace. "I do hate to cut this short, Miss Swan, but you'll have to excuse me. I have much to do and very little time in which to do it."

Before she could respond, he had disappeared into the back room. She hesitated for a moment before stepping away from the counter and exiting the shop, her mind processing the information she had gathered in such a short amount of time. According to the fire inspector, it would take at least until the following day to complete an investigation into the fire. There was nothing to be done until the fire was out completely. It had been burning so intensely it had taken them almost an hour to get it under control, and they had still been dealing with flareups when she left.

Gold . . . _Rumpelstiltskin_ had a point. There was no way Hook had been watching that morning, or she would have seen him. She had scoured that marina, and there had been no sign of him. Not to mention the sail maker's equivocation, even when she had seen through it. Regardless of what Osamu had said, Hook had been there, and she had just barely missed him. At some point he was going to return to the marina to check on his ship. That's where Emma would find him.

She just had to be patient.

* * *

Three days. Three bloody days he'd had to wait to even approach the marina. It was lucky he had found safe harbor with Osamu: He would have frozen to death without a proper place to sleep. Every night before now had been disastrous. He hadn't been able to get anywhere near the Jolly Roger, thanks to what seemed like the endless presence of that bloody Swan woman. She came at dusk every evening and didn't leave until someone came to replace her well after midnight—usually the same man. Why hadn't she been with the child she had fought so hard to return to?

However, this evening seemed to show a change in the pattern. At dusk, there was no sign of her, and when an hour passed with nary a hint of another presence in the marina, Killian seized opportunity. He stepped out of shadows, approaching his ship cautiously. At some point they had removed the destroyed mainsail, and in the darkness he could just barely make out the scorched and crumbling railing that had lain beneath.

His heart plummeted as he climbed the ladder that the firemen, or whatever the bloody hell Osamu had called them, had propped against where the gangplank would have gone. At first he had hoped that maybe the deck hadn't been too severely damaged, but as he stepped on to his ship for the first time in three days, he realized just how foolish that hope had been. Killian stepped up to the edge of the blackened wood that circled a gaping hole in the deck. The cargo hold was damaged as well, the sail having fallen through. It was a miracle the gunpowder hadn't ignited, or an incinerated mainsail and eviscerated deck would have been the least of his problems.

He walked over to the hatch and opened it, climbing down into the cargo hold. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for what he might find. As much as it pained him to face the whole of the Jolly Roger's damage in one go, he knew that he may not get another chance after tonight. With a heavy sigh, he opened his eyes and moved deeper into the hold.

* * *

The marina was silent as Emma climbed out of her bug, kicking herself for being as late as she was to her watch. Three days without Hook showing up didn't mean that it would continue, and it was stupid of her to become complacent. With Henry under her care, though, she had to put his needs first. Their weekly dinner at Granny's was one of the many promises she had made to him, and she refused to start breaking them so soon after they were made.

She turned on her flashlight and began sweeping it from side to side as she searched for any sign that Hook had been there. Just as she passed the ladder leading up to the deck of the ship, the light flickered and ultimately died. She whacked the flashlight against the palm of her hand, but the light merely sputtered out its last rays before fading away entirely.

"Damn it," she muttered, shaking it ineffectually before letting her hands fall to the side. She was about to head back to her car to hunt for spare batteries when a loud crash sounded from the ship. The voice that cursed loudly afterward froze her on the spot.

When she regained the ability to move, she was on the deck in a flash. "Hook!" she called out, not quite sure why she was in such a hurry. "Hook!"

"You don't need to shout; I'm down here," he said from below deck. She approached the edge of the hole, stopping just short of the scorched ring. She saw Hook standing, arms crossed, over a fallen barrel, something resembling black sand pouring from the upturned end.

"What is that?" she asked, momentarily forgetting everything she had planned to say.

"Gunpowder, what does it look like?" he snapped, looking up from the barrel to meet her gaze. A yellowing bruise marred his left cheek. "Well, you found me. What do you want?"

"I want to know how you and Cora got to Storybrooke. There was only one way to get back, and Snow and I used it."

"There was only one way that _you_ knew of. I, however, found another way back." He turned on his heel and disappeared under the undamaged portion of the deck. A moment later, a hatch to her right was thrown open and Hook climbed out. He didn't move any closer to her; he simply leaned against the opposite railing. His eyes met hers. "It turns out the bean I took from the giant wasn't quite as useless as I previously thought."

There was a flicker of something she couldn't identify in his eyes. She ignored it. "And how did you manage to bring this ship through the portal?"

"Magic," he said simply.

Emma let out an exasperated sigh, changing the subject to avoid getting flustered. "Why would you hide after your ship was nearly destroyed? People were going to find out you were here after that."

"They were surprisingly ignorant of the massive ship floating in the marina beforehand." Hook moved in front of her, standing at arm's length. At least he wasn't invading her personal space. "Tell me, Emma: You're not unintelligent. How is it that _you _didn't discover that I was here before the Dark One ruined my ship?"

"I had my suspicions, but there was a bigger problem to deal with."

His expression flickered with something she couldn't quite place—disappointment, hurt . . . no, that wasn't possible—before it was a blank mask once more. "Ah, yes. Cora. You took care of her fairly quick, though." He leaned forward—so much for personal space—and added, "I was impressed."

"Where—" Her voice cracked, and Emma cleared her throat, taking a couple steps backward. "Where have you been hiding if you haven't been here?"

He straightened his posture, arms crossing over his chest once again, though his lips held the hint of a smirk. "I've been with a friend." All humor left his face as quickly as it had come. "And before you punish him for protecting a fugitive pirate, know that he wouldn't have lied if I hadn't asked him to. Osamu is the only truly honest man I know."

"I already knew that," she said, a little surprised by his vehemence. "You're not the only friend Osamu has in Storybrooke."

"Funny, he never mentioned you."

"Not me, my . . . father." She shook off the awkward feeling that calling James her father left. "Are you going to keep staying with him?"

"As much as I love sleeping on a rickety cot in the small apartment above his shop, I _was_ planning on staying below deck in the captain's quarters here."

"It's the middle of winter and there's a giant hole in the deck of your ship!"

"No, really? I hadn't noticed!" he said facetiously; she had to resist rolling her eyes. "What else would you have me do, love? I have limited options."

Emma was silent, thoughtful. It didn't take long for the only appropriate option to present itself. There was Granny's Bed and Breakfast, though she wondered briefly if the no convict ordinance would apply to pirates. She decided she didn't care—the only other options were Hook freezing to death or staying at her apartment. Neither of those were viable.

"Well?" His voice was tinged with impatience.

"There's a bed and breakfast that's run by Granny—sort of like an inn, I guess. Storybrooke doesn't get many visitors, so there are always rooms available."

"That could work," he mused. "There is, however, the issue of payment. I didn't come to this land prepared to pay for anything."

"I'll take care of it," she said quickly. He lifted an eyebrow, taken aback. She backtracked, taking advantage of the silence. "Under one condition." There was one thing that needed to be dealt with, and this was the perfect opportunity. "You promise to leave Gol—Rumpelstiltskin alone." He went to protest, anger twisting his features. "No, Hook. I'm the sheriff, and my number one priority is keeping the peace. If you or Rumpelstiltskin keep at each other, it makes my job difficult."

"You drive a hard bargain, Swan," he bit out, clearly perturbed. "Fine. I'll leave him be . . . for the moment." He gave her a heated look, the fury radiating palpably from him.

She took a step closer to him, her eyes meeting his, challenging him. "Don't test me, Hook. I'll lock you up without a second thought if I think you're going to mess with the small amount of peace this town has had since Cora was cursed and trapped in the mines."

"I gave you my word, did I not?" he said sharply. Her eyes went wide. His voice was bitter when he continued, "But I mustn't forget that, even now, you don't trust me. How could you?"

"Right, how could I?" She shook her head. "I don't want to discuss this tonight. It's late and I'm tired," she said in a tone that brooked no further argument. "I'll bring you to the bed and breakfast and get you a room. Get in the car."

"If you don't mind, I would like to continue assessing the damage done to my ship. I've waited three days: I would rather not wait any longer."

Her gaze met his, and she shrugged. "Have it your way." She turned and started for the ladder. "I'll be waiting in the car. It's freezing out here."

"Emma," he called, and she turned her head to look over her shoulder, her eyes questioning. He started to say something, seemed to think better of it, and instead said, "I won't be more than an hour."

She didn't turn away until he had disappeared into the cargo hold. Brushing aside her curiosity concerning what he was going to say, she climbed down the ladder and headed for the bug.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Bah, sorry for the wait! I've been playing Mass Effect (the entire series) for the past few weeks, and I got caught up in that and a lot of person stuff that I can't talk about. Regardless, I'm working on this as much as I can, but it's coming along slowly. Writer's block, yay._**

**_Anyway, this is another OC heavy chapter. I know, I know, it's annoying, but it pays off in the long run, I promise! I have it all outlined! If I had waited a few weeks, I probably would have replaced my OC with Dr. Whale somehow, but alas, _In the Name of the Brother_ came a few weeks too late! Bear with me for a few more chapters. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. I just love hearing what you guys think._**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

A gust of wind picked up a layer of loose snow that swirled through the air beautifully, gracefully. It wrapped around James like a frigid cloak as he climbed out of his truck, coating him in a dusting of powder that melted on contact. He wiped that which had melted on his face ineffectively with the sleeve of his coat, and the wind bit harshly at his wet skin. He hurried across the street, toward the front door of Osamu's shop.

Winter had reared its ugly head in Storybrooke. The cold air had been accompanied by a week long snowfall, ranging from flurries to a near blizzard. The storm had practically shut down the town. James had meant to visit Osamu as soon as Emma had found Hook, but the weather had kept him indoors. Not that he was complaining—schools had been closed until the roads could be cleared properly, giving Snow an unexpected vacation from work. He was grateful for any time that he was able to spend with his wife since she and Emma had returned from the Enchanted Forest.

When he entered the shop, he heard noises coming from the back room. Rather than calling out to Osamu, he went back to find him. If the man was working, then there was a very good chance James wouldn't be able to get his attention unless he was directly next to Osamu. He was surprised that that he hadn't been greeted by Yukiko yet: Perhaps she was out shopping?

James found Osamu leaning over his worktable, a pencil scrawling furiously over a sheet of paper. As he moved closer, James could see a sketch of a familiar ship—the ship that had nearly been destroyed. Measurements were written haphazardly on the mainsail, and he seemed to be making notes off to the side of the sketch.

"Osamu?" No response. "Osamu!"

The pencil dropped, and Osamu looked up from the table. "Hello, James. When did you get here?"

"Not too long ago. What are the plans for?" he asked, indicating the drawing.

"I'm sure you know of the ship in the marina by now, _Deputy_," he said, mocking James's title in a friendly manner as he tapped the badge. "I was hired to replace the mainsail that was destroyed just over a week ago. Not an easy task, but it will keep me occupied."

"Yukiko and you usually work faster than this. I knew you to have at least two sails done in this same amount of time." He was looking around the back room, searching for some sign of the woman he had met all those years ago. When his comments received only silence, however, he turned his attention back to Osamu. "Did something happen to Yukiko?"

"She was . . . killed." Osamu visibly swallowed, his eyes swimming with tears that didn't quite fall. It was a moment before he could continue."It was just before Regina's curse brought us all here. It happened less than a mile from our home. I could hear her screams. . . . She was gone before I could find her."

Osamu picked up his pencil, his gaze returning to the worktable. James watched as the pencil shook before falling back to the table. Osamu's hands clenched into fists, striking violently downward with enough force to send the pencil tumbling to the ground. James had never seen his friend like this—Osamu had always been calm, even under duress.

Suddenly he was aware of Osamu's shoulders shaking erratically. His breath came out in short bursts, lifting the edge of the paper on the table. James wondered if his friend had ever had a chance to properly grieve for his wife. Saying nothing, he took in a long, drawn out breath. No words were sufficient at the moment. James gave what support he could in silence, placing an arm across Osamu's shoulders.

This was unbelievable. He remembered Yukiko in that moment, as he had known her—all dazzling smiles and vivacious laughter. The way she had looked at Osamu had given James hope, hope that he would one day find a love that pure and strong. The support that she and her husband had given him when he had overthrown the king had been invaluable, even when they couldn't actively help him.

In time Osamu's breathing evened out, and James pulled his arm away to find a paper towel. He pulled up a chair next to Osamu and handed the paper towel to him, looking away as the other man cleaned himself up.

"Thank you, James." Osamu turned to him, his eyes red and puffy. "Since the curse broke, I haven't been able to think of Yukiko. It's too painful."

"I can't imagine what you're going through. If I were to lose Snow . . ." he trailed off, his memory flashing back to all of the times he had nearly lost his wife and how it had torn him apart. If just the mere idea of losing Snow could inspire those feelings, then Osamu must be in his own personal hell.

"Your entire world would be turned upside down," the other man stated suddenly. "You wouldn't know which way was up, or whether or not it would be worth getting up in the morning. Your entire reason for being would become obsolete. You would wonder if you could ever feel that way again—you would wonder if you even want to."

Osamu went silent, retrieving the fallen pencil and slowly, hesitantly, returning to his sketch. James watched him for a while, noting that, even as Osamu added more to the sketch, it was already far more detailed than any of the others he had done while under King George's employ.

After they had spent a considerable amount of time silent, James walked up to Osamu and took the pencil from him. "You haven't made a sail since Yukiko passed, have you?"

Shaking his head as he turned to face James, Osamu replied, "I haven't had the opportunity. A friend made a good point: Yukiko was the genius behind the business. I can make a sail well enough, but she had a certain magic when she wove. I worry I won't be able to match her skill."

"It may take time, but you will weave a sail just as well as she did." James placed a hand on Osamu's shoulder in support. "I think, for now, you need to take a break. I don't think I've seen you more than once since the curse was broken, and never outside of this shop. Come to Granny's for lunch. My treat."

"I—" Osamu's eyes met James, and he sighed, nodding. He stood from his chair and moved toward the stairs that led to the upper level apartment. "Of course. Let me get my jacket."

* * *

The diner was bustling with people, the lunch crowd nearly filling it to its maximum capacity. Osamu stared at his menu, trying to ignore the curious stares that he received from over half of the patronage. Whether their attention was due to recognition or a lack thereof, he didn't care. He just wished they would stop.

He looked up from the menu for the first time since he had received it when a familiar brunette came to the table, a pen and order pad in one hand. Osamu gazed at her for a moment—probably longer than was proper—before he recognized her in the slightest. She had been one of James's allies during the war to take back the kingdoms. He had only met her once before, when Yukiko had still been alive.

Trying to remember this waitress's name, he got lost in the memory of his dead wife once more, bloodied and broken in his arms. Simply trying to remember an instance of meeting someone brought back the horror of losing Yukiko, simply because she had been with him at the time. It was more of an effort to get himself out the flashback this time, and he only managed it because James had cleared his throat loudly.

"What can I get for—" the waitress went silent, her eyes flickering with recognition. "Osamu, right? I haven't seen you since before Snow and James took back the kingdoms! How have you been?"

"As good as can be expected since my wife passed." Her free hand went halfway to her mouth, falling back to her side almost instantly, and her lips twisted into an apologetic frown. He shook his head and managed a sad sort of half smile before saying, "It's all right, not many people knew of Yukiko's death. A combination of the queen's curse and my own choice not to speak of it, until recently."

"I understand," she said, her expression and demeanor reflecting her words. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I remember meeting Yukiko. She was kind to me, even though she hardly knew me. I'm not used to that."

"It was always in her nature to be kind—sometimes foolishly so. It was her most endearing quality, however, and I can't think of a soul alive who could speak ill of her." He smiled sadly. "Although, I could be biased." The waitress smiled brightly, her laughter ringing out in the diner, and a warmth spread within him. For the briefest of moments, Osamu remembered Yukiko's grin, the infectiousness of it. As soon as the memory had come, however, it was snuffed out by the image of her brutalized body.

He cringed, and he saw the face of the woman before him fall. Quick to recover, he pulled himself away from the memory. "I... apologize. That wasn't because of you." He looked to James, who had remained silent this entire time, his expression just a little distressed.

James's eyes were filled with understanding. He looked to the waitress with a smile. "Could you bring us two of my usual?"

She nodded as she scribbled the order on her pad, rushing to drop off the ticket and tending to other patrons as she went. Osamu watched her slip between tables with ease, her movements flowing with a particular grace. She glanced back at him and James, her eyes capturing Osamu's fleetingly.

He felt something in that moment, and it unsettled him. That he could feel happiness, possibly even giddiness, seemed unbelievable in that moment. He was so accustomed to the anger that he had fostered since Yukiko's death. His life had become his grief. The thought of moving past it—finding someone new—frightened him.

He hurriedly looked back to James, whose eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. "Are you all right, Osamu?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Osamu replied, his eyes not quite meeting the other man's. James eyed him, just the slightest hint of suspicion in his clear, blue eyes. His lips parted, but before he could form words, the waitress returned with a tray holding their food. She slipped the plates of food in front of them.

"Thank you, Red," James said.

"Yes, thank you." Osamu smiled up at her apologetically, hoping that he hadn't offended her too much earlier with his ill-timed cringe. When she grinned in response, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight that filtered through the windows, Osamu's own smile widened slightly.

The bell above the door jingled, and Red looked over immediately. His gaze followed hers to where the sheriff stood, the badge peeking out from beneath her jacket. She looked over to their table and waved to her father and Red, her eyebrow lifting almost imperceptibly when she spotted Osamu at the table.

"I'll be back in a bit," Red said, still smiling. "Enjoy your food."

Again, Osamu watched her walk away, this time in the direction of the sheriff. The two women spoke with the familiarity that spoke of a close friendship. As he turned his attention to his food, his thoughts drifted to the friendship that he and Yukiko had shared with James before he had even come to be known by that name.

Though the inevitable turn to darker memories of his wife did come, he realized with astonishment that it wasn't as difficult to endure them. Flickers of a familiar smile, deep chocolate brown eyes, and velvety black hair were all interspersed throughout the carnage with which he was familiar. It wasn't nearly enough to completely block it out, but it was something new.

Osamu began to eat, pushing away the thoughts of what these new memories implied. His wife's death was still fresh, even if twenty-eight years passed. He had been in a glorified stasis, remembering a life that wasn't his—a wife he hadn't truly known. Now that he had his life back, he had to learn to move on. As much as it pained him, he needed to mourn her in the way he had been denied for nearly three decades and learn to live without her.

Only then would he be able to start over.

* * *

"_Are you certain this will do as I asked?"_

"_Have any of my curses failed to do as you asked, _Your Highness_?" Rumpelstiltskin responded, his hand twisting regally in the air. _

_George was still uncertain, though he refused to show it. He lifted his chin, looking around his chambers. If he weren't certain that this was necessary, this meeting would not be occurring."And all I owe you is a favor?"_

"_For me to call upon at any time of my choosing." _

"_You'll have your favor, Rumpelstiltskin," George said, the words bitten out quickly, "so long as I have my curse."_

_George quickly took the small vial that was handed to him. Rotted teeth on full display, the Dark One grinned at the king. He let out an almost childish giggle, bowing with a flourish before he was engulfed by a cloud of indigo. When the smoke cleared, Rumpelstiltskin was gone._

* * *

"_I commissioned you to outfit my navy, Osamu. I can just as easily take that away." George stood in front of Osamu and his wife, anger radiating from him. "Don't make me do something we will both regret."_

"_You can threaten us all you like, Your Highness: Our loyalty lies with Prince James." Osamu's voice was firm. His arm wrapped around Yukiko's waist as she nodded her agreement. She placed her hands over Osamu's, her expression just as resolute as her husband's, possibly more so. George glared at the couple, stepping within arm's length of them. Osamu nudged Yukiko, who hesitantly made her way toward the kitchen. She paused in the doorway. George saw her look back over her shoulder for a moment before closing the door behind her, out of the corner of his eye._

"_It seems I will not be able to change your mind," George said, resigned and furious._

_Osamu lifted his chin defiantly. "I'm offended that you expected anything else." Turning on his heel, Osamu moved for the front door. _

_George reached in his pocket and popped the stopper off of the vial there before quickly removing the vial, emptying the contents into the simple, bronze goblet Osamu had been holding when George arrived. Slipping it back into his pocket, he followed the other man to the door and left without another word._

* * *

The crisp, late morning air bit at Osamu's exposed skin as he exited the diner alone. James had to stay behind, his daughter having some official business to discuss with her deputy. He wondered briefly if it had anything to do with Killian, who Osamu hadn't seen since the day after he had been found at the marina by none other than Sheriff Swan. He supposed he could visit his friend at the bed and breakfast run by the widow Lucas, since he was already out of the shop.

As he turned to head in that direction, he collided with something decidedly human. Stepping back, Osamu met the eyes of the person with whom he had collided. He recognized the man immediately.

"George," he said coolly.

"Osamu. It's been a while, hasn't it?" George glanced around quickly before meeting Osamu's eyes once more. It almost looked as if he hadn't expected to find anything. "Where is your wife?"

"She's dead." Osamu's tone was clipped, impatient.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. George's gaze went to the watch at his wrist. "Well, I should be going. Take care, Osamu."

Osamu only nodded, his disdain for the man trumping his usual politeness. He started off again, in a mood distinctly less cheerful than before he had left the diner. When he forced himself to focus on the friends he had reunited with, his mood began to lighten. With a new found resilience, he made his way to the bed and breakfast.


End file.
